


Starbucks

by Sauou



Category: Banana Bus Squad
Genre: Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Coffee, First Meeting, M/M, Starbucks, man in skirt
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-03-12
Updated: 2016-05-23
Packaged: 2018-05-26 08:01:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,717
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6230518
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sauou/pseuds/Sauou
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>If there's one thing Craig expected to find during his late-night run to Starbucks, this definitely wasn't it.</p><p>.</p><p>
  <i>It’s suddenly too hot even though they’re the only two in the store and it’s three in the morning and Craig can feel his skin start to flush as he averts his eyes and tries to laugh it off.</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Craig walks up to the counter, each step so memorized that he doesn’t even need to look up to give his order. The words rolling off his tongue a spell in the form of spices and caffeine.

His fingers dancing over the keypad on his phone, texting replying and posting in seconds as he shifts on his feet, the very core of him designed to move.

But look up he does, sliding his phone into his back pocket and pausing at the sight before him.

“Um,” he starts. “You’re new here, right?”

The Starbucks employee just grins at him and nods, starting to fill his order.

And the man’s skirt lifts up a little as he turns around and bends down to grab some new cups, and Craig’s eyebrows rise with it, mouth dropping open.

It’s suddenly too hot even though they’re the only two in the store and it’s three in the morning and Craig can feel his skin start to flush as he averts his eyes and tries to laugh it off.

“Are, are you wearing a dress?” Craig pulls at the collar of his shirt and looks around the empty but well-lit store throat burning as he tries to swallow the mental image down out of his thoughts.

“No,” the man laughs and Craig looks back, just now noticing what a pretty face the guy has. But he’s still talking and his voice is oddly familiar in a way he knows but just can’t place. Sitting on the tip of his tongue a name that he can swear by but can’t remember.

“They don’t allow us to wear dresses here. This is just a skirt.” And he swishes left and right quickly to demonstrate, the fabric riding up his thighs and all of a sudden Craig is leaning over the counter to get a closer look, enraptured.

The man laughs.

Craig looks up, frozen at the sudden melodious sound, draped over the serving counter like a pig on the platter. Blushing hard all the way to the tips of his ears.

The man is grinning at him and Craig can’t take his eyes off that open face, so full of joy and laughter that he can feel his heart warming just being near him.

“You comfortable there?” He asks, laughs again, and sets Craig’s coffee down next to him on the counter.

“Oh! Sorry,” Craig mutters and slides back down to his feet, thoroughly embarrassed.

He takes his coffee, drops his change into warm waiting hands, and scurries off into a corner of the shop. Slinking into his chair stiff backed and flustered.

His face just feels so red he knows he probably looks like a tomato, and he hunches over, facing the wall, coffee hot in his hands. His whole body heated.

In a few minutes the temperature cools enough that he can drink, and Craig starts to sip his coffee, making such soft little noises of happiness and satisfaction that he misses the murmur of amusement behind him.

But he notices the hand slowly set a large glass of water on the table right before him, fingertips sliding backwards to rest against that hip and Craig can’t take his eyes off those legs again as the man laughs and says, “I thought you might be thirsty.”

His throat is parched, the fire is back in his belly, and he drowns the entirety of the glass in one long swallow. Water slipping out the sides of his mouth he is drinking so fast and he wipes at it quickly with the back of his hand.

Beside him the chair scrapes across the floor and he looks to see the server sitting next to him, legs spread like a man, skirt riding impossibly high and the glass crinkles in Craig’s grip as his eyes catch in the dark space between his legs, as the server introduces himself.

Eyes still locked on the man’s thighs, the exposed flesh there. The soft looking pleated black fabric draped across it. Parting as he shifts, as he laughs and announces, “My name is Jon if you couldn’t already tell.”

And Craig slowly looks up to see Jon tapping his nameplate and just feels so lost sitting there, a empty plastic cup in one hand, a half full cup of coffee warming the other. And this very attractive man in a skirt who is sitting right in front of him.

He leans back, and a soft “wow” escapes involuntarily. Craig’s eyes widen and he slaps a hand over his mouth, as if that could stop the thoughts from burning through him.

Jon laughs at him. “I assume you’re referring to to the skirt.” His legs bounce a little and the damn thing is riding up again, Craig’s eyes following quickly after.

“I lost a bet,” he explains. “We were playing ‘Would You Rather’.”

Craig blinks and comes to his senses a little, back on familiar ground. “Ah, you play? Er, video games I mean.”

“Yeah,” Jon grins at him. “I even have a YouTube channel.”

“Really?” Craig perks up. “What’s the name? Maybe I’ve heard of it.”

And all of a sudden Jon is laughing, so loud and freely that the sound is echoing all around them, thrumming through his bones his body vibrating.

And all he sees, all he can notice is how much the man’s face lights up when he’s laughing, the way he throws his head back, crinkles his eyes, neck exposed as he lets loose and bellows with joy.

“Are you usually this dense, Mini?” Jon is asking him, but Craig is still two worlds behind and isn’t sure what page of the story they’re on, leaning in close, eyes tracking the way Jon moves. Watching his throat as he swallows, adam’s apple bobbing up and down.

And his heart is hammering in his chest as he clings to his cups for dear life, Jon draping both arms over the sides of his chair, leaning back as Craig leans in.

Crossing his legs as he continues his explanation. “I mean, Luke didn’t say I had to wear it to work or anything, but it’s not as much fun if nobody’s embarrassed am I right?”

Craig nods on cue, spellbound.

And Jon is watching him, expectantly, but Craig is still lost. “What?” He furrows his eyebrows, missing the point completely.

Jon just grins and sighs. “Repeat after me–”

“What?” Craig interrupts.

“That’s not what I told you to say,” he sasses.

“Sorry,” is the embarrassed apology.

Jon just nods and grins. Then proclaims “Delirious”, and waits.

Craig is still lost. But Jon is rolling his hands in the universal ‘come on you can get this’ gesture, so he follows along after and repeats.

“Delirious.”

“You rang?” Jon’s smile is so wide he has to be breaking something on that pretty face and the empty plastic cup slips right out of Craig’s hand and bounces off the floor.

Jon’s warm hand quickly wrapping around his other, keeping his grip on the coffee as he leans in close and whispers, “Do you get it, Mini?”

“No,” Craig whispers back. And kisses him.

Jon’s eyes go impossibly wide, his mouth opens, his breath is stolen completely as a tongue slides in between his teeth, tracing the inside of his mouth, sliding across his tongue.

His heart is dancing in his chest when Jon pulls back, skin flushed, his lips tingling as he touches them hesitantly. His eyes going even wider when it finally clicks in Craig, the man visibly swelling up with air and embarrassment.

“Oh. Oh shit! Delirious!” And he’s leaning back in his chair, both hands flying up to his mouth, coffee forgotten as it chatters to the floor and spills over both of their feet.


	2. Chapter 2

Craig is standing outside the front door, a large bouquet of flowers obscuring his face as he tries to work up the strength to go inside.

There are a lot more people milling around inside the Starbucks today than there were late last night. And just thinking about walking in front of all of them, carrying his bundle of daises and daffodils up to Delirious _(Jonathan_ , his mind gently corrects _)_ and asking the question that’s been burning a hole in his brain all day has his nerves running rampant.

_“Will you go out with me?”_

To dinner, a fancy restaurant or something similar, out to have a nice romantic evening with just the soft gentle glow of candles the only light on the table between him and Jonathan.  


Just the two of them, leaning in close and closer yet, and have you ever wanted something so much it burns? His lips still tingle with thoughts of last night, the kiss, the dropped coffee.

The manic stumbling as he ran out the door, nearly tripping over his own feet in haste in embarrassment. A need to put distance between them, just for a few hours, just long enough to _think_.

To go to the shop and buy the largest bundle of flowers he could possibly find (too much red, he needed softer colors, a gentler presentation; daisies and daffodils) and slink, finally, back here.  


But there’s too many people, to much movement and action inside the store. And as much as Craig really wants to walk through that door, his heart also desperately wants to go home and completely forget about everything.

About the date, that he’s seen Delirious’ face _and it’s beautiful_ , that there’s now a Starbucks that he’s actually loathe to enter.

He’s pacing back and forth on the sidewalk outside, and he’s trying not to be too conspicuous, too obvious, but he can feel the eyes on his back. The weight of the stares from the audience on the other side of the glass wall digging into him.

What’s the worst that could happen, after all? Maybe Jonathan laughs. He always laughs. He’d probably laugh _at his own laugh_ , as a matter of fact.

And the best thing..?

Craig stops just before the curb, with all the city’s traffic flying past him in streaks and streams of light and color and forceful wind that pushes him back.

His laugh.

Jonathan’s face lighting up, joy spreading across his cheeks, that slow curl of his lips as he smiles and shuts his eyes, truly and utterly happy. 

The sound that could lull a thousand people and a thousand more, the joyous noise of pure mirth, snorts and broken exclamations and all.

Yes, that’s a certain type of heaven.  


“Excuse me, mister?” Pulled from his daydream, he looks down at the tiniest of tugs on his pant’s leg, and when Craig turns there’s a small child there, barely seven years old probably (he’s not really the best judge of ages to be honest).

“What’s wrong sweetie?” He asks, starting to bend down, but a styrofoam cup is shoved right in his face.

“The man at the bar told me to give this to you,” the child tells him, then turns and runs back inside.

The glass door is slowly swinging shut when Craig finishes blinking and looks down at the coffee in his hand.

There’s some writing on the side facing away from him, so he carefully tucks the flowers in the crook of his arm, taking great care not to crush them, and turns the cup around.

 _1-920-555-1803_  
Call me. :D

“I know your phone number!” Craig shouts through the glass wall at the grinning man standing behind the counter, then promptly has to turn around and face the street again.  


His neck and ears are a bright cherry red, the color is quickly spreading across his cheeks and he looks like a damn tomato.  


He hugs the bundle of flowers close, the plastic encasing them crinkling in his arms and the tips of several buds tickling just beneath his nose. He’s fighting the urge to sneeze and the rush of traffic in front of him is just as violent as it was two minutes ago.

Several sharp buzzes come from his side pant’s pocket as someone tries to call him.  


Craig buries his face in the flowers and continues blushing.  


Maybe he should just go home? He’s been standing here trying to work up the courage to go inside for almost an hour now and some of the buds are starting to wilt a little on the edges and this is all so hopeless.  


Who buys a bouquet of daisies and daffodils? Who gives another boy flowers? _Who kisses a boy in a skirt and runs from it like a coward?_

Craig sips the coffee, and resumes his pacing. His phone silent as the caller on the other end gives up.

Or a movie, maybe? Maybe they could go and see Star Wars or Jurassic World or something. Would Delirious like an action or a romantic film better?  


(It’s Delirious. Of course he’d want to go see stuff blow up.)  


They could be sitting in the back row, just the two of them, armrest lowered as they share a bucket of popcorn, then their hands touch and, just like that magic. The light of the movie reflecting across their faces in the dark as they turn to each other, lean close, faces almost touching and..

Craig buries his head in the flowers again.

He can’t get his mind off the kiss, no matter how hard he tries (not that he’s trying very hard to be honest), off the softest press of lips against his own. The bitter taste of coffee and the sweet slip of tongue and he’s got a problem.

Skirts should be illegal.

Behind him comes a small commotion as one crowd leaves the Starbucks and another enters, and there’s hushed whispers all around, people scattering left and right and watching him.

He knows he’s making a spectacle. Standing here on a public street with a bouquet of flowers like a lost lover who’s praying for forgiveness.

“Son,” a rough voice begins just behind him, hand on his shoulder in comfort. “I’m sure whatever you did she’ll forgive you for.”  


And Craig spins around to see an old man standing there, yellow teeth and wrinkly skin and such a heartwarming smile that he doesn’t have the heart to say the truth.

“Thank you,” He mutters, and manages a worried smile back.

The man nods. “Good luck.” And turns, continuing on his way, hands in his pockets and head held high.

Craig sighs and looks back inside the store.  


Marginally less people still linger in there, but all the newcomers are pointing and staring at him. Everyone standing in line, sitting down at the tables and benches, whispering behind cupped hands and glancing back, through the glass at him.

At Delirious standing there on the other side of the wall, hands cupped around his mouth as he breathes on the pane and a white vapor is formed.

Craig expects him to start drawing a dick and balls, but is holding his breath when Jonathan’s finger touches the glass.

He starts to write something backwards, letters that make no sense viewed from the other side and Craig is titling his head trying to flip the words around in his mind when he notices that Jonathan’s still wearing that damn skirt.

And his eyes are immediately drawn down, to the fold and swish of the fabric against Jon’s legs, small dark hairs everywhere, and he’s walking towards those legs, holding tight to the flowers for support, his cup half empty and he can’t stop staring.

There’s a tap on the glass, high, and Craig looks up to see Jonathan’s unearthly grin that lifts one corner of his mouth higher than the other and he’s right there, so close.

Craig’s heart is beating, drums and tambourines, and his breath is short as he leans in close, just the glass between them now, keeping them apart.

He wets his lips with his tongue, his throat is dry, his mouth is tender and Jonathan is tapping at the glass again, at the backwards writing separating them, and it still makes no sense whatsoever.

Craig shakes his head and opens his mouth to ask what he’s trying to say when there’s a shout from deep inside the store.

A short, middle-aged woman comes running up from deep in the crowd and pulls Jonathan away from the window, quietly scolding him so low under her breath that Craig can’t hear a word but he recognizes the apologetic look Jon throws him as he’s dragged back to the front counter.

Back to work.

Leaving Craig still standing there, looking probably as lost as he feels, the flowers getting even more squished in his arms and the coffee cup nowhere near as warm in his hand as it was several minutes ago.

He rests his face on the glass and watches Jonathan.

Delirious is almost dancing behind the counter, you can’t even tell that he’s wearing a skirt, the bar is set too high, but the man is spinning back and forth and moving with such a grace that Craig can only sigh and stare.

The old woman is there too, right next to him, filling orders as fast as she can and she sends a glare right at Craig.

It reminds him so much of his mother when he did something wrong that he immediately recoils away from the glass and her look instantly softens.

She goes back to work and Craig is standing two feet away from the glass when the pink of the fading sunset catches the light just right and reflecting in streaks of fingerprints is the backwards writing Delirious left behind.

He squints, and tries to read.

It takes some patience, but he finally makes out what Jonathan was trying to say. Awful handwriting and wrong-way letters notwithstanding.  


_“I love you too, you big wuss. Come inside.”_

Craig takes a long, deep swallow from the coffee and tries to work up the courage to do just that.

He finishes the cup in one gulp, and turns around to throw it away in the nearest trashcan, but it bounces off the rim and starts to roll away down the curb.

Craig swears under his breath and squats down to pick it up, the large bundle of flowers getting in the way and making things even more awkward as he tries to reach around it with one hand and grasps and grasps again.

But finally manages to grab on, crumbles the cup up in his grip, and forcefully dumps it in the trash as he stands up, holding onto the lid of the can for support as he catches his balance.

And then his phone goes off again.

Craig frowns and shakes his head, but with a hand free he reaches in his pocket and tugs the damn thing out.

 _One missed call from Delirious_ , the notifications tell him, _and two text messages_.

He pulls them up, and the first is from Delirious, of course. Telling him to “ **come inside. you’re making a spectacle and my manager is getting antsy** ”

The second is a picture of him bending over to pick up the coffee, with hearts drawn all around his ass. And a pair of dick and balls doodled in the corner of the picture, just for fun.

Craig looks up, mortified, expecting to see Jonathan laughing at him from behind the counter but instead he’s standing right there in front of him, grinning like the cat and so damn close.

“I appreciate the gesture,” Jonathan says. “But you didn’t need to bring me flowers.”  


And bends down just a little to kiss him, square on the mouth, but Craig is still having a hard time catching up and he doesn’t respond until Jonathan’s mouth has already moved away and all he can manage is,

“I thought you were working?” With wide eyes and a reluctant expression, _he liked being kissed, okay?_  


Jonathan shakes his head with a grin. “My shift is over now.” And, links an arm around Craig’s and starts to tug him down the sidewalk.  


“Let’s go get something to eat,” He says, taking the flowers out of Craig’s hands and smelling them with a smile.

Continuing, “I’m thinking steak.” And grinning in that soft and carefree way which sets Craig’s heart racing as he’s pulled alongside for the ride.

“Did you know?” Delirious keeps going, slipping his fingers down until they entwine with Craig’s and he is just staring down at their hands as Delirious squeezes and he’s trying to figure this all out but Delirious is still moving and talking.

“What the flowers mean? Because it’s really sweet if you do, but it’s cool if you don’t. Though it’s been awhile and I’m not too sure of the meanings, I’m pretty sure daisies mean someone can keep a secret which, if you did know, thank you. And daffodils have something to do with love, but I think they all kinda do, don’t they?”

And Delirious is smiling at him when Craig looks back up. The man can talk up a damn storm and Craig is still trying to catch up to the whole _kiss on the mouth, we’re on a date now_ thing as he’s pulled down the sidewalk by this man in a skirt.

“Wait,” Craig finally manages to speak up. “Does this mean.. you forgive me? For molesting you before?”

At this Delirious does stop, and turns to look at him with a _what the hell_ expression. “When did you molest me?”

“Last night!” Craig exclaims. “When I kissed you!”

Delirious laughs, loud and deep and for so long that Craig starts to get a little uncomfortable. “If that’s molesting somebody, have I got a _lot_ to teach you.” And lets go of his hand to grab at his ass so abruptly that all Craig can do is jump as his butt gets squeezed.

Delirious laughing and leering at him as Craig starts blushing again, a fire under his skin, and then they’re holding hands again and off down the sidewalk.

Craig is still miles behind.

But Jonathan’s hand is warm and soft in his own, and his voice is pleasant and every time he turns around to smile Craig’s heart skips a beat and his footsteps falter.  



End file.
